


punch me in the mouth (with your mouth)

by swisstae



Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, BAMF Steve Rogers, BAMF Tony Stark, Fake Marriage, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Modern Steve Rogers, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve and Tony are BFFs, TropeFest like fuck, Wedding Rings, and he's so angry all the time, basically I combined everything I like, had enough of the modern yet?, like "watch me bitch" while he glares up a storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:08:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swisstae/pseuds/swisstae
Summary: Steve is in love with Tony. Has been, for years. And the thing is, he's pretty damn sure Tony doesn't reciprocate that interest because they've been on dozens of fake dates and he's never once breathed a word about it. They just fake propose to each other to get free food. That's all there is to it. Nothing more.or: the one in which Steve is an oblivious idiot and likes punching people (and is a total sucker for Tony).
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646299
Comments: 22
Kudos: 176
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	punch me in the mouth (with your mouth)

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god, this is the first thing I've written that doesn't have weird angsty drama and is pretty much pure fluff. (there is some homophobic language, sorry about that! if it helps, Steve does punch them)   
> anyway, happy birthday, Steve Rogers <33 
> 
> thank you to mythsndlegends for the speedy beta + cheer read
> 
> fills square O4 on the stony bingo card: Wedding Rings

“Steve!” Tony calls out, his gaze fixed on the menu outside the restaurant. His gaze is calculating, but when he turns to Steve, his eyes are filled with mischief. 

Steve knows that look. He wishes he didn’t. 

“No- Tony, no- I’m stuffed, come on, I can’t possibly eat more- Tony!” Steve puts up a token protest as Tony drags him over to the menu board, where it exclaims in garish lettering that it is Valentines Day. 

“Look! It’s a dessert offer for couples, and I bet they give it to us for free if I propose.” Tony stabs at the words printed, turning around to give Steve the ‘Bambi’ eyes, or so Bucky had christened them. 

(Bucky had also petitioned to change Steve’s name to Tony’s Simp, but he was vetoed by Sarah on that. Thank God. He hated it when his best friend and mother agreed on things. It usually meant he was going to be in trouble.) 

Steve didn’t stand a chance against those eyes. Big and brown and beautiful, the undercurrent of mischief only making them more endearing. 

“Ugh, fuck, okay,” Steve pants as Tony brightens up and started pulling him towards the entrance of the restaurant. “But I didn’t bring my ring tonight.” 

Tony doesn’t even stop to look over at him, just hums in a slightly condescending manner as he digs out two rings from the pocket in his jeans. 

“First of all, I always have my ring on me, Steven, what kind of a fake fiancé are you, if you don’t even carry your own ring around with you?” Tony says, his eyebrow raised as he looks over at the conspicuously empty spot in Steve’s ring finger. “Secondly, why the fuck wouldn’t you carry your ring around on Valen-fucking-tines Day? We always get the best discounts on that day, and-”—here Tony wags a finger at him— “it’s free if we propose.” 

“Yeah, but isn’t Valentine’s a little too cheesy? Who actually wants to propose on a day when millions of other people are going to propose as well?” He doesn’t want to have to go through this ridiculous charade (again) because Steve just wants to be a little bit infatuated with Tony without the added pressure of being his fiancé too. 

(This happens more often than Steve would like to think about. This, of course, referring to the fake engagements, because in spite of all his allergies, Steve can eat like a horse and Tony just likes duping people.) 

Steve whines as Tony drags him closer towards the entrance of the restaurant. “What will our children say, Tony? That their parents got engaged on the cheesiest, tackiest romantic holiday in the entire year?” 

Tony turns to him, his resolve faltering. Steve’s equally confused. Has his brain-to-mouth filter finally broken? But if it gets Tony to let go of his crazy schemes, he’s willing to go any length. 

“C’mon, Tony. Who even does that? Not even actual couples get engaged on Valentine's Day.” It’s the last straw. Tony had to relent now. He just _has_ to. 

Tony’s eyes lose their confused look and glitter with mirth, his lips curving into the sweetest smile as he leans forward, his mouth tickling the shell of Steve’s ear, “We do, baby.” 

… And Steve can’t really argue with him anymore, not when Tony looks like that. Like Steve is the best thing that’s happened to him, even if they’re getting fake engaged again. 

He sighs. Maybe this time he’ll get to punch the homophobes. 

Turns out, he needn’t have wished so hard. 

__

Tony’s getting ready to do it, Steve knows. That’s his game face, the one he wears every time he has to propose to Steve. It’s a lot better than what Steve has to do every time Tony proposes— he has to pretend he has no idea of what’s happening, and keep up the conversation almost one-sidedly even as he tries and fails to not think about the way Tony would look if he was really proposing to him. 

Tony gets up, and Steve looks up at him with both anticipation and fear warring in his gut. He’s never thought himself to be a masochist, but the way he keeps agreeing to Tony’s madcap schemes and his spur of the moment ideas that inevitably have the worst consequences for Steve himself— yeah, he’s masochistic. (And has a healthy fear of snakes, after a scheme gone terribly wrong. Tony had been very apologetic. It nearly made Steve actually forget why he was so worried, until the snake bit him again.) 

Tony gives him a smile, the small, honest one that he rarely uses, and Steve’s more confused than fearful now— and bends down on one knee and wraps Steve’s gangly fingers within his own. 

“Steve, darling— love of my life, I’m so glad I met you all those years ago. You’ve been a constant in my life, and there’s not a single moment that I’ve regretted being with you. You are the greatest gift I’ve got, and I’m so lucky to have you.” Tony pauses here now, and Steve— Steve can’t breathe. It almost feels heartfelt, the earnest way in which Tony says it all. 

“I’m the luckiest man on the planet, and the only thing that would make me happier is if you would marry me, Steve.” Tony winks at him, and pulls out the ring with a flourish. All eyes are on them now, and it’s— it’s just an act. Like the countless other times they’ve done this. It’s never going to be true, and Steve should just stop hoping. 

He’s not sure why it hits him so hard all of a sudden, but— he’s just not ready for this one, that’s all. He didn’t expect to be confronted with his feelings today, and that’s all there is to it. 

He ignores the way his throat clumps up, the way his eyes start feeling hot and how it becomes that much harder to swallow. He’s _fine._ It’s just a lot to take in at once. And he’s so busy trying to not let his feelings show on his face, that he almost misses the question when it’s asked. 

“.... you marry me, Steve?” Tony asks, and _shit,_ Tony knows there’s something up, because he looks worried, his brown eyes filled with concern— Steve’s face is probably blotchy or something and his eyes— fuck, his _eyes_ — are actually brimming over with tears and they’re falling now and he can’t stop them and all he can say is, “Yes.” 

The restaurant erupts in polite claps, and a few cheers from where the waitstaff is standing arise. 

Tony stands up to embrace him, and Steve should say something, he should say that it’s not Tony, no, it’s just something that he’s allergic to, really— when he hears the men sitting behind them mutter, “Just like a fag. Coming in here and proposing in front of everyone while the other one cries like a sissy.”— and Steve sees red. 

He stands up, whirling around to face the man who said it. “Which one of you fuckers said that?” 

His voice is low and threatening, the one he uses when he’s going to be throttling the ego out of some bastards who think they’re God’s gift to mankind. He doesn’t look like a threat, never does— but he can hold his own, despite the size difference between him and the people he usually engages in tussles with. 

The blond bastard, the one who’d said the words, stands up— and _shit,_ Steve only comes up to his chest, he should’ve probably thought this through before opening his big mouth— and speaks. “You gonna hit me, little guy? Come on, now, throw a punch—” and Steve wants, he aches with the urge to fucking _hit_ this bastard who thinks he can get away with this shit. His friends jeer and chuckle behind him, and emboldened by that response, the man grins widely, his teeth a sick yellow. The conversation in the restaurant has dwindled away into an anticipatory hush, and Steve can feel everyone’s eyes on them. “You scared, sissy?” 

Steve stands his ground, analyzes the body structure and language of the man in front of him. He’s a heavyset man, despite nearly being six foot, and he’s standing too sloppily— his legs are too widely spaced, his arms crossed. That means that his arms will need that extra second to disentangle before he can throw a punch at Steve— and that’s all the advantage Steve needs. 

“I don’t need to throw a punch at you, you fucktard.” he spits out. “You ever wonder if your ass feels bad about the kind of shit that comes out of your mouth?” Steve scoffs. “You think you’re so great, don’t you? Think you’re a proper _man,_ don’t you? A man who can boss his way through the world and never have to lift a finger to do your own work. I bet you make your girlfriend or your wife clean up your messes, make your assistants do all the work for you— and you just act like you’re their overlord, their _master._ ” 

Steve moves closer, chin tilting up in defiance as he maintains his stance. “But you know what? You’re just another failure of a human being, because no one loves you. No one even likes you.” He gestures to all the men sitting behind, watching this display avidly. “If you died, this very second, I bet no one would even feel any remorse. You know why? Because you’re a motherfucking son of a bitch and you deserve it.” 

He feints a punch, and when the man is distracted by the potency of the words Steve had just spit out, he drops to the floor and kicks out a leg and makes the man overbalance. He goes down with a satisfying _crash_ and Steve has never been prouder. 

He stands up, dusting his hands on his jeans, as he makes eye contact with the men sitting at the table. “Wanna fuck with me now, you assholes? Huh? Or are you too fucking scared to be beat up by a guy half your size and weight?” He’s almost screaming now, his body filled up with a rage that cannot be contained within himself any longer. 

He feels arms wrapping around his waist. His first instinct is to throw them off, but then he realises that Tony has caught hold of him, is pulling him back from those fuckers, all the while whispering into his ear about “standing down” and “I can’t fucking bring you anywhere, Steve!” but Steve isn’t really paying attention. 

“I can do this all day, motherfuckers!” He calls out, just as Tony manages to pull him out of the door of the restaurant. It’s as if a dam breaks. All the men stand up in unison, and make their way towards the door, trampling on each other as they try to reach them first. 

Usually, it’d be okay with Steve. He’s used to having to fight off drunk men during bar fights (which Steve doesn’t actually start, thank you very much. It’s their fault for molesting the waitresses or for catcalling the ladies groups. He just— well, he just manages to piss them off by calling them out on their despicable actions. Hardly his fault.) but he has Tony with him now. He can’t put him in danger, no matter how badly he wants to beat up those dicks, and that means they’ll have to get the fuck out of there. 

Tony removes his hands from Steve’s waist, and entwines his right hand with Steve’s own. “Do you trust me?” he asks, his face aglow from the yellow street lamps, his expression serious. 

It’s too much, too much to process at the moment— the way he’d proposed to Steve, the way he’s asking Steve if he trusts him— and Steve responds the only way he knows how— “What the fuck, Tony, we’re not in fucking Aladdin, fucking run before they beat us to a bloody pulp!” 

And then they’re running off into the gloomy night, clutching each other’s hands tightly. It’s probably the first time Steve has run from a fight, but he’s not going to complain, not when Tony is safe beside him, a wide grin splitting his face as they run through the dark streets. The sound of thundering footsteps behind them echo in the small streets, voices growling for vengeance on ‘those faggots’ but Steve doesn’t care. Not when Tony is looking at him like that, dark eyes sparkling with unrepressed glee.

And then Tony ducks around a corner, pulling Steve after him ungracefully. Steve doesn’t exactly know where they are— it’s a little too dark for him to see clearly— but he trusts Tony to not steer them into danger. 

It’s cramped and it smells a little musty, like no one‘s been here in years. (It also smells like the last time someone was here, they emptied the contents of their stomach here, and Steve wrinkles his nose at the thought.) Tony places a hand over his mouth, as he opens it to make that observation out loud— and _fuck._ Steve had been too busy fussing over the smell of the alleyway to actually gauge the way they were positioned. Tony was basically covering Steve with his own body, pressing Steve up against the damp wall. 

He could feel every inch of Tony’s body covering his own, and— oh, God was really testing him now— and he really, really wanted to be closer. Tony has nearly three inches on him, which made it easier for him to actually cover all of Steve thoroughly, one of his hands holding Steve in place by his waist, and the other still pressed against Steve’s mouth. 

“Don’t make a sound. They’re still there, probably circling around.” Tony whispered, his breath hot against Steve's skin, his lips brushing lightly against his ear making him shiver ever so slightly. “Don’t move until I tell you to.” And oh God, Tony ordering him around like that, with that no-nonsense tone Steve’s never heard from Tony before, directed at himself— that was, well. That was hot. 

It feels like hours, when in reality it must have been barely ten minutes, when Tony finally relents and moves back, saying in a relieved whisper, “I think they’re gone now.” 

He removes his hand from Steve’s mouth, and— and fuck, Steve lets out the tiniest whimper. _Shit._ He’s hoping against all hopes that Tony hadn’t heard that— 

“Steve?” 

_Fuck._ Tony sounds worried, the relief in his voice changing to a sharper concern. He cups Steve’s face in the darkness, tilting his head this way and that. “You okay? He didn’t get you, right? I didn’t even check, shit, did I pull you too hard? I’m so sorry, Steve—” 

Steve places his own hand over Tony’s mouth. It’s instinctive, a way to shut Tony up. But in their current position, it ends up to be far more intimate than he had intended it to be. Tony is still cupping his face, and Steve can see the glimmer of his brown eyes in the darkness. He can feel the curve of Tony’s lips under his fingers, pulling up into something Steve thinks must be a smile, but his eyes give away nothing. 

For a second they stay locked together in that strange embrace, before Tony lets go of Steve’s face, and Steve slowly removes his hand from Tony’s mouth. 

And shit— now he’s staring at Tony’s lips, his eyes unable to look away from the plump bottom lip that Tony’s licking slowly— and he wants to feel its cushiony softness against his own lips, not just his hand. 

He’s staring so intently that he almost misses the huff of laughter Tony lets out. 

“What?” he asks. Shit. His voice is breathy and soft, almost a whimper. He clears his throat and tries again. “What’s so funny?” 

“You.” Steve wants to be offended, but then Tony’s leaning forward, bringing his face closer to Steve’s so that they’re sharing breaths, their mixed rhythm harsh and unfaltering until they start to mimic each other and breathe in sync. He’s about to give in, when Tony suddenly moves, his hand clutching the back of Steve’s neck and his waist, his mouth slotting over Steve’s so perfectly. 

He kisses Steve hard, his lips moving against Steve’s unhurriedly, swallowing the little gasps and moans Steve lets out. _Fuck._ Steve’s never been more turned on in his life. Tony nips at Steve’s lips lightly, suckling his bottom lip until Steve lets out a surprised gasp and then licking his way into Steve’s mouth. Tony’s tongue is hot against his own, slipping and sliding in his mouth as he desperately tries to hold on to some semblance of coherent thought. 

He never thought— he’d never even let himself imagine that Tony liked him back, that he wanted Steve in the same way he’s wanted Tony for so many years. 

God. Tony’s trailing kisses over his jaw now, moving down his neck. Steve tilts his head back into the brick wall, almost missing the way Tony presses words into his skin when he kisses it. 

“What did you say?” Great, so now he sounds hoarse, and they haven’t even done anything yet. _Yet._ Even thinking the word gives him a fluttery feeling in his stomach. 

Tony looks up at him coyly, his lips moving insistently against Steve’s collarbone. “When you talked back to that dirtbag in there, I could see why Bucky wanted you to never go out alone.” 

Steve sighs. “Bucky’s always been too overprotective. I would’ve been fine, Tony, honestly. I just didn’t want you to get hurt because of my stupidity.” 

Tony smirks now, an honest-to-God smirk, as he moves away and trails his eyes over Steve lavisciously. Steve’s feeling weak in the knees. “Oh, I didn’t complete my sentence. I can see why he doesn’t want you to go out alone, because the way you looked in there?” He moves closer to Steve and kisses him hard. “So full of righteous anger at their bigotry, so small and yet so powerful?” He presses a kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose, a gentle touch on his eyelids and Steve can only sigh and shudder as he presses closer to Tony. “Fuck, baby, I wanted to kiss you so badly. It was a miracle I managed to control myself.” 

Steve opens his eyes. “But— but you’ve seen me fight before.” 

“Yeah, but that’s usually at the end of a fight, when you’re basically done and someone’s called us to keep you in line before all their property is destroyed. I’ve never seen you before the punching happens, and fuck,” he nuzzles Steve’s neck, “you were fucking amazing in there.” 

“So that’s what gets you hot and bothered?” Steve murmurs, amused at this display. “You mean I could’ve made you watch me fight, oh I dunno, three years ago and you’d still have been that impressed?” 

Tony looks into his eyes, all traces of joking wiped from his face. His eyes are dark and solemn, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat when he says, “Steve. I would’ve been impressed when I was in the fucking womb, because that’s probably when I started loving you.” —and Steve can’t breathe. 

Tony— Tony just said that he— he loves Steve. He _loves_ Steve. There’s no way to interpret the words in any way other than the obvious, but Steve has to cover all his bases. “So when you mean _love,_ you’re not talking about like bro-love or some platonic shit, right? I mean, I sure hope not, because I’ve loved you since I was ten years old and it’s going to suck if you only love me in a bro way— mmff!” Steve’s interrupted from his rambling by the short kiss Tony presses into his mouth, and yeah— there’s really no way to interpret this besides the obvious. 

Tony pulls back and smiles at him. “That evidence enough for you, you dumbass?” 

Steve smiles back helplessly, his heart full and soaring with the knowledge that this man, this infuriating, brilliant man in front of him loves him in the same way. “Maybe I need to experiment a bit more to know for sure, you know?” He grins at the suddenly hungry look in Tony’s eyes. “I mean, who knows? This could be a one-off or maybe you’re just running high on adrenaline and this is your body’s way to combat that resp—” He’s cut off by Tony’s tongue prying his mouth open as he bursts out into a laugh. 

This is definitely the best Valentine’s Day ever, Steve concedes, as Tony leaves him a breathless, gasping mess by the end of the night. (Even though it’s still cheesy as fuck.)

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi over @ [the stuckony discord server!](https://discord.gg/jtXcc3n)


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